


Before and After

by Fareeq



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fareeq/pseuds/Fareeq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyday life in the Zombie Apocalypse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> The toxicity of Oleander is considered extremely high and it has been reported that in some cases only a small amount had lethal or near lethal effects.

Close your eyes for a minute. Imagine your very own town reduced to nothing but a ghost town, with cars and baggage strewn about amongst the corpses and rot, amongst death and infection. Imagine great, black crows, eating these corpses, happily devouring what remains of your family, your neighbors, and your fellow countrymen. Imagine what used to be people, now hunkering masses of grey, decaying flesh, some whimpering, others merely sitting, immobile, with wide glossed eyes staring into nothing. Imagine some of them fighting each other, snarling like wild animals and feeding on anyone too weak to fight back.

 

Were you successful? Yes? Well, fuck you. Shaun wants to go back when all of these things were imaginary, no, bloody hell, when all of this was _impossible._ Walking dead? Zombies? Infected? He still remembers running from Abstergo, trying to find the temples with a guilt-ridden Desmond meekly pointing the way. He remembers himself and Rebecca holding on to this man, this shell, telling him they were doing it to honor Lucy’s memory.

 

The bloody woman was lucky, dying first. Desmond is still somewhat sore on that subject, but as long as you don’t breech it, there’s no problem. Rebecca still glares at Desmond with a sort of contained hate, but she keeps it in. And himself? He doesn’t give one bloody hell of a damn. He just wants to get to the next rally point their radio is repeating about and hoping it’s not infested.

 

How did this happen? No, he knows the how, the why. What he has yet to understand is the _why the fuck did it blow out of proportion?_ Wasn’t Abstergo more than capable of stopping all this bollock from happening if they were so capable of almost blowing out the entire Assassin race? He meant to understand, really, but when you’re walking in the middle of a paved road in what was formerly a bustling town now changed into a zombie-ghost town, you had to stomp your foot down and call ‘bullshit’.

 

A few little outbreaks here and there and then bam! Zombie apocalypse! Would you like a side order of public chaos with that, along with a special large order of military assholery that didn’t work at all? We could make it a combo with some misinformation, lack of sources, and human error. You can also get hysteria and terror as dessert.

 

And all for what? This. Walking around cities and towns, sometimes even avoiding them because they’re too infested, or there’s absolutely nothing to scavenge for there. The Englishman wants nothing more than to merely sit on a nice cushion, have a _warm_ cup of tea, hell a warm _bath_ , go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare. But of course, irony and fate won’t have it that way, hell no.

 

Instead, he’s walking in between Rebecca and Desmond, the American in front of them, eyes glinting that odd gold when he’s using Eagle Vision. Either Those Who Came Before thought it’d be funny to be all mysterious about how the world was going to end (and were consequently laughing their arses off in the Great Beyond) or they knew this crap was going to happen and decided Eagle Vision was good enough to detect Infected from Immune. Hell, Desmond could even tell who was a Carrier or who was seconds away from turning into a snarling, gnashing asshole.

 

Rebecca is humming to herself, mainly because she finally got those batteries for a Discman she found and now she’s hearing only Lord knows what. This might be terrible, as she’s bringing the rear end, but the bloody woman, with all her Assassin senses (kind of like the American Spidey sense) could _feel_ change of air behind her. So if anything was stupid enough to run towards her, they’d get a face full of machete (or bat, or crowbar, depending on her mood).

 

Of course, it’s also hard for them not to notice someone coming, zombie or not, because the angry idiots make too much bloody noise (in turn attracting even more of the idiots). So in a way, Shaun is in the safest place in the world at this very moment. If you ignore that Desmond has been having more Bleeding Effect attacks or that Rebecca has sudden fits of hysteria or that he himself suffers from emotional blunting. See? Perfectly safe.

 

“You know,” And that’s Rebecca, finally tired of not using her mouth. Desmond turns to signal he’s listening but still keeping watch and Shaun grunts. “You ever wonder if this whole Zombie Apocalypse stuff was on purpose? You know, what with us kicking Abstergo in the nads they maybe decided to have a hissy fit.”

 

“Oh yes, Rebecca I can see that now. ‘Fellow Templars! These pesky Assassins have foiled our dastardly plans for the last time! Release the Virus!’ And then nearly everyone keeled over. Might I remind you that the Assassins we have met, regardless of being bitten or scratched _do not turn?_ Desmond here is a pretty good example of this theory.”

 

Rebecca huffed good-naturedly, rolling her eyes as Desmond chuckled, head moving to see as much as he could, even through his peripheral vision. “Aw man, c’mon. Why you gotta be such a dick? I’m being serious-!”

 

“And so am I, Becca. If it, whatever the bloody hell it was they released, was targeted at killing off Assassins with civilians as an accidental collateral damage, then they failed horribly. Again, I refer to Desmond.”

 

“You know, I’m starting to resent the fact that you’re using me as an example.”

 

“Shut up Miles.”

 

Desmond had been bitten on the first weeks of The Panic. They’d all been terrified, all being himself and Rebecca. He still doesn’t know why he didn’t shoot the man, but it was a good thing because the man didn’t turn. After the usual time passed, the wound only kept bleeding. There were no shivers. No vomiting of blood. No beginning snarls, turning into enraged howls. Nothing but the Assassin-to-be snapping and cussing about the asshole tearing a chunk of flesh from his shoulder and ‘fucking shit, it hurts!’

 

The wound is still bandaged, but it no longer bleeds, and is in fact nothing but scar tissue too sensitive to leave out on open air. Of course, this one wound isn’t the worse Desmond has sported. Cuts, bruises, black eyes, even a dislocated ankle, though he’s clenched his teeth and kept moving (what else could they do? It’s a good thing they’ve met people with the knowledge of medical procedures or Desmond would have stayed stranded.)

 

After a bit more walking (and more of Rebecca making more half-assed attempts at conversation) they finally stop to momentarily watch the sun start hiding into the horizon. Their pace becomes more brusque and, after a while, Desmond separates from them.

 

“You think he’ll actually find a place with working water?”

 

“We can only hope, Shaun.”

 

He glared at her. “You don’t care about your hygiene, but I certainly do.”

 

“Oh, really? I knew you cared!”

 

“Sod off.”

 

“Hey!”

 

They both turned to see the other male waving his hands and leaving without another word.

 

Their refuge for the night would be an abandoned gas station, one which thankfully was boarded up, but that also had most, if not all of its exits closed safely. The only drawback was the corpse inside with a single bullet hole through its head.

“Someone lost hope.”

 

The ex-techy glared at the Historian who gave an innocent ‘what?’ With the corpse outside, they could actually sit down and finally relax, if somewhat. They still had to check if there was any food available (that wasn’t rotten) as well as drinkable water. No such luck. At least there weren’t any zombies.

 

“With the lack of resources we have, I think we’ll be good for another two weeks. But hey, keep positive, we’re alive and kicking in the Apocalypse.”

 

“Your optimism knows no bounds, Miles.”

 

He merely shrugged and laid on the floor, too worn to care about how clean it was.

 

“I’ll take first shift. You two go to sleep.”

 

“How nice of you Rebecca.”

 

“You do know I’m doing this for Des’, right?”

 

She received a glassed glare as the other two bro-fisted. Childish idiots. He was stuck with immature idiots. As sleep began slowly setting in (and he ignored the sounds of shuffling, the innate fear that there was one of them inside the store), he felt Desmond shift closer until they were back to back.

 

“What.” It was a hissed question, though with his tone of voice it sounded more like a very bored statement.

 

“Can’t I just seek out human touch? Well, more like body heat, but you catch my drift.”

 

“We are not going to shag, if that’s what you’re inferring. That one time in Rome was sheer dumb luck.”

 

“What about before that? In Monteriggioni?”

 

“Lapse of sanity. This was when it all started, if you remember correctly, and don’t you dare bring out Milan.”

 

“Then I shouldn’t comment on Zermatt?”

 

“ _No._ ”

 

“But you really liked it when I was holding your leg on my shoulder and rammed inside your-“

 

“ _We are not having this conversation!_ ”

 

The American stayed quiet, although he was shaking and he could guess it was suppressed laughter. Shaun snarled. Their relationship, like the infection, had sprouted from nowhere and under strange circumstances. At least with this, he could appease the nasty dreams and hallucinations he had because of the Bleeding Effect.

 

It also meant that when the opportunity presented itself, their libidos could be sufficiently sated. He felt a tad bit sorry for Rebecca and her one handed dates.

 

He was almost asleep when he felt the insufferable wanker hug him. He gave a nasty snarl but didn’t move the hand. No use really. He’d snake his way back while Shaun was asleep. At least it helped with his fake sense of security. Just for today, just for a bit, before he had to get up to his shift.

 

Before reality bitch-slapped him on the face.

**Author's Note:**

> Why hasn't anyone written AC Zombie Apocalypse? Anyone willing to pitch in a little drabble? They'll be a collection, but they must all have the name of a poisonous flower. Only rule. Any pairings welcome!


End file.
